Hybrid Theory Remake
by Felix McKraken
Summary: The Prince of Saiyans is riddled with doubt and fear as he inexplicably exhibits memory loss and illness. While trying to combat these handicaps, he's thrust into the World Martial Arts Tournament where his condition changes drastically.
1. Papercut

**Papercut**

Despite the fact that he had a regular sleep schedule, the Prince of Saiyans felt that he must be missing a vital part of the night. Sitting up into the peppy sunlight he ignored a spinning in his head. Groggily he shed his sleepwear, showered quickly, and donned a training uniform. He lingered at the dresser.

A buzzing of sorts filled the back of his head. A quiet, troubling sensation that plagued him too often to be anything worth ignoring. Slowly his gaze turned from the polished wood to the mirror in front of him.

Dark eyes stared back into his own. They seemed to mock him.

"What are you looking at?" he asked so softly he barely heard it.

The capsule was cold from inactivity. He punched in some commands by rote and began a Kata, but his heart wasn't into it today. He longed for a restful bout of sleep and a clarity in his cranium. Maybe then this pressure would dissipate.

Every grueling day was preparation for an upcoming battle. Whether it was inner or outer turmoil made no difference. It took hardly any effort at all these days to convince himself he hadn't wasted his life on an obsession of lies.

So what if he felt as if he had no control of himself sometimes? No one else knew he felt that way. He snarled savagely, his arms snapping out to punch the air, his muscles stretching, his joints aching from the abuse. He stopped abruptly. Breathing sounded like a perfectly good and rational thing to do at the moment.

He slipped back into his routine, hiding behind the comfort of repetition and the familiar.

Vegeta, forced towards the future and bound by the past, wasn't aware that one of his problems was with pride.

He believed in the wrong kind.


	2. One Step Closer

**One Step Closer**

"Your promised him a week ago!" Bulma shouted at him for forgetting yet another important detail. He allowed her to rant, unwilling to admit he had no knowledge of the event. In this way he was exempt from showing weakness. "It's not fair to treat him like this."

Fatherhood had not come easily to him. Social interactions was not a keen subject to the brunet, and responsibility was another foreign idea that he found abrasive. He was fond of the boy, certainly, but he was also secretly terrified that he would be to Trunks what Freiza, or his own father, had been to him. Vegeta's head hurt at just the thought, so he filled the scathing silence with a few choice words, "I'll take him today."

"That's not the point!" the woman complained while lighting a cigarette, "The point is that if you can't keep your word that hurts him. If you keep doing this he isn't going to trust you."

For some reason he had wanted to reply, Maybe he shouldn't. But he only said it in his head.

The pain in his skull escalated.

Something about his expression must've been atypical because her tone changed from aggressive to concerned, "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," he snapped and rose from his seat, "Where's Trunks?"

"In his room," Bulma answered, her voice more neutral. She was contemplating; he recognized the air she exuded. He departed her presence so she could have some peace.

He detoured to the bathroom. Quietly he retched, appeasing whatever had distressed his body.

He washed his hands, then his face. Oddly, he felt like he didn't trust his reflection. It was a discomforting sensation he attempted to wipe away as he dried his wet skin.

"What are you so afraid of?" he whispered to himself.

If only he'd been there and the thing was just not likely to see that he had been watching the time that wasn't going anywhere andifonlyslowdowndidn'texistifonlyhewouldn'tgiveinnottothe..restraint...of...the buzzing...that...heady...sensation...

He caught himself before a fell, startled.

Vegeta made his escape by taking his son to the amusement park.


	3. With You

**With You**

His eyes opened, focusing slowly. Vegeta carefully extracted himself from the fog of unconsciousness as to not disturb the part of him still sleeping.

Moving was a miracle. It stripped away the tendrils of deprivation and uncertainty. They were still there, but just.. attached to the other part of him.

How long had it taken to achieve this? Years of subterfuge, of silence, of endurance. More stamina than fighting Frieza, enduring intensified gravity, or pursuing Kakarot. He would have _loved_ to battle the other Saiyan, but - alas - his own poor judgment made certain that that would never occur.

Since he could no longer achieve his goal, Vegeta found himself manifesting strange new desires. Activities to fill the space and pass the time.

He stripped, bathed, and dressed, opting for the business casual style. The brunet smirked at himself in the mirror. "You wanted to sleep," he told himself while buckling his belt, "Why don't you reminisce for me? Think of the good times we had."

He pushed away the unpleasant recollections - muting the memories of bone hitting bone. Slyly he cached away pivotal bits of information that could compromise his position. It was so easy - the prince was practically begging to be placated.

He chuckled.

They both needed a vacation.


	4. Points of Authority

**Points of Authority**

The sun was warm on his face, almost lulling Vegeta back to slumber. He sat up, pleased to find lucidity coupled with a well-rested sensation. Baffled at the rare respite, the prince opted to not question it. He removed his pajamas, showered, and then opened the closet. His face scrunched in disapproval. Apparently the woman had taken to shopping again and insisted on placing new wardrobes conveniently in his path. He finally located his training gear in the back.

He caught himself smiling for no reason. Perhaps other people felt like.. like _this_ on normal occasions. It was intoxicating.

Bulma sat at the breakfast table with a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. She glanced at him and spoke, "They have an article about the tournament tomorrow."

"Tournament?" he inquired while opening a cabinet only to discover plates. He closed it.

"The World Martial Arts Tournament..?" Bulma reminded him.

"Oh, yes," the prince replied, trying another cabinet. He found bowls and cursed inwardly.

"They mention you," she said in between sips of coffee, "Well, in passing. They talk about the Cell Games in here."

He finally located the collection of mugs and tumblers. Vegeta turned to the beautiful scientist with accusation in his voice, "Why did you move the glasses?"

The woman stared directly at him for a few seconds. At last she said, "Have you hit your head? Have you been training too hard?"

"What? No!"

It was apparent that she did not believe him, "Look, I know that you've been looking forward to the tournament, but don't lose your head just because Goku is going to be there."

Perhaps it was his comically wide eyes, or how he dropped the glass that made her truly worried, but she immediately took the day off of work in order to take him to the hospital. It was a task she completed only because she had the utmost determination, otherwise the prince's callous and stubborn nature would have deterred her.

They argued about his perfect test and lab results on the way home.

"I told you; I just forgot what day it was," Vegeta bent the truth, trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Bulma.

"Yeah, and I know that you pretend everything is okay even if it's not," she replied in such a factual way it actually intimidated him. He looked out the window, trying to ignore the throbbing in his temple.

When they arrived back at Capsule Corporation, Vegeta dismissed himself to the restroom where he vomited. He washed his hands and then his face. As he looked into the mirror he shivered.

Why couldn't he remember?

Why didn't he have control of his life?

Why was this happening again?

He collapsed onto the floor, buried his face in his arms, and silently sobbed.


	5. Crawling

**Crawling**

The scenery passed by at a leisurly pace as Bulma expertly wove through traffic. Trunks was giddily asking questions from the back seat, to which his mother was patiently answering. Meanwhile, in the front passenger seat, Vegeta sat in frustration as anxiety poisoned him. He divested any extra energy into making himself appear stoic and calm.

With unwavering authority that she bestowed upon herself, Bulma claimed a parking spot that was conveniently close to the entrance.

Vegeta hefted his tote over his shoulder while examining his surroundings critically. Unbeknownst to him, the brunet was under the watchful eye of his significant other. Bulma noted how Vegeta allowed Trunks to lead their small party. Usually the prince liked to parade ahead of his other traveling companions. He typically enjoyed being the center of attention, but now something was causing him to shirk away from that position.

They found the other Z Fighters huddled in a group along the main walkway. Greetings commenced and small chat ensued until Goku arrived. The hero stood unawares with a smile and a halo above his head, almost as if he had been there all along. Cries of exaltation rang out as family and friends rushed to his side, taking turns hugging him. Vegeta's eyes briefly met Kakarot's, but the prince turned away as if it were an accident. He didn't realize this reunion would be so painful.

He considered escaping to the nearest bathroom, but he concluded that it could be construed as a type of weakness. Perhaps he preferred being a masochist by watching Goku interact with those around him.

The hatred welled up in him, like it so easily did anytime he saw the other Saiyan.

Why was it so simple for Kakarot? It was disgusting.

Time hardly seemed to pass. Vegeta felt atypically nervous and simultaneously restless. Doubt was plaguing him, encouraging his teeth to grind against one another. He looked at the matches as they took place, but he wasn't really watching them. His mind's eye kept summoning the image of unfamiliar clothing in his closet, and glassware in the wrong cabinets. The doctors hadn't found anything wrong, but Vegeta knew that there must have been a mistake. Nothing in his life had ever caused him to endure such distress.

The Prince of Saiyans felt like he was coming apart.

The only positive aspect of this was that it allowed him to properly praise his son when he won the junior division of the tournament.

Events started happening too quickly after that. Two aliens named Kaioshin and Kibito approached the Z Fighters. As a group they pursued two men called Spopovitch and Yamu who lead them to Babidi and Buu - the newest threat to Earth. Krillin and Piccolo were turned to stone by a Demon King called Dabura who was in the employ of Babidi. Gohan began battling Dabura.

The brown-haired Saiyan took his frustrations out on Goku, chastising him and criticizing the man's son.

Babidi called back Dabura and announced he had another assistant - this one worthy of their attention.

Intrigue crossed Vegeta's mind until-

PAIN. Like his head had been placed into a vice. It made it difficult to protect his mind from the obvious intrusion. Vegeta collapsed to his knees, resisting the invader, but failing. His vision started to fade, and a surge of panic fueled his adrenaline. It was inconceivable that another alien would endeavor to conquer him. Death looked rather attractive than to live under the heel of any person likening to Frieza.

He started talking, uncertain where the words were coming from. They seemed undeniably correct, like an unwavering proclamation.

"You cannot have me, Babadi. I am beyond your control," he growled, breathing hard, "You cannot subdue me for your grasp is as effectual as fog. Yield. Yield and perish, Babidi."

He screamed in agony at the magician's persistence.

"You think you are safe?" the brunet seethed, trembling on the floor, "You think you can hide when you walk into my domain? Feel the wrath of the Prince of Saiyans. Taste the power of Vegeta."

He wavered in darkness, vaguely aware of the other presences around him. There were glimpses of people and expressions. Babidi and shock. Dabura and desperation. Kaoishin and Kibito and disbelief. Gohan and awe. Kakarot and concern. The other man and defiance.

Eventually, the world came back into focus.


	6. Runaway

**Runaway**

A plume of smoke billowed up into the sky, and hunks of metal rained down upon the earth in the aftermath of such a large explosion. Jagged bits of the once proud alien ship littered the immediate surroundings and, over the deafening roar of the destruction, the Prince of Saiyans said, "We're done here."

The brunet's gaze fixated onto Goku with intent. Certainly they could finally conclude their unfinished business now.

"Vegeta?" the third-class inquired, raising an eyebrow.

The shorter male nudged a piece of metal that bore the Majin imprint, "Buu is no longer a threat. Let us return to the tournament." The thought of fighting in his condition wasn't appealing, but he'd be damned if he let this opportunity depart.

Goku persisted, "Are you okay? Babidi-"

"Babadi did not gain control of me," Vegeta informed, agitation entering his voice and body language, "There is nothing more to say."

"But are you good to fight?" the other Saiyan asked due to his good nature.

This question was met with a glare from the royalty. It wasn't any of the younger man's business if Vegeta was in any condition to fight - the importance lay in that Vegeta had called for it. That should have been enough.

Perhaps by the time they got back to the tournament his ailment would wear off - releasing him from this aching static in his mind. Whatever charm Babadi attempted had failed, but it had repercussions, consequences. Old, uncomfortable memories came to the surface. Recollections of time spent in confining ships, traveling days alone in space...

He rose into the air, not bothering to see if the others were following, willing himself to not be physically sick.

It was marginally better by the time they landed. The heroes immediately checked on the queue to find that the other Z Fighters had thoughtfully prolonged their fights to give the Saiyans time to return.

Once secure with his place in line, Vegeta ducked into an empty corridor to compose himself. The brunet pressed his palms against the wall with his arms extended, leaning forward in case he heaved.

"We don't have to fight," Kakarot's voice startled him.

The prince spat excess saliva onto the floor, "Yes, we do." He saw the other man out of the corner of his eye. The brunet could make out the uncertainty on Goku's face that he likewise felt, but did not express.

If he didn't fight, then what had he spent so many years of his life on?

He suppressed a shudder.

No, he had to fight. For some reason control and winning had become synonymous in his head.

He had to win.


	7. By Myself

**By Myself**

This was Vegeta, age fourteen, with his equidistant strides. With what dignity he could muster, he knelt calmly and retched. Soldiers snickered while he haughtily dabbed the corners of his mouth with toilet paper.

He was always ill when he traveled. It had been particularly bad when he had first joined Frieza's employ, but time had tapered most of the unpleasantries off. Doctors had offered him medication which the prince firmly refused since he innately distrusted anything associated with Frieza. He only allowed himself to be put into regeneration tanks at times merely because he wished to live.

After ignoring jibes, he washed his hands and face, then retired to his chambers. He lay in bed with a buzzing in the back of his brain keeping him awake. Eventually he shifted, rolling to face the window that displayed an environment that lacked days and nights.

"I swear, one day, that bastard will pay for what he's done to me," the brunet promised himself. This declaration gently drowned the pain, but only just. Just enough to sleep.

Just enough to wake. With tenderness Vegeta rose, his purpose undefined. He walked the halls leisurely, taking enjoyment from the petty conversations he overheard. He ate a small meal in the mess hall, watching other men stuff their maws ungraciously while bantering with friends. He visited the sick bay to check on a minor wound he had recently obtained in a purging mission, but mostly to see where the instruments were held and how they were applied. On his way to a training room an alien resembling a Mantella - except much larger and with more opposable appendages - bumped into the prince.

"Beggin' your pardon, guv," the stranger said in a reedy voice, yet with no chord of dishonesty.

Vegeta took in his appearance critically, "You know me." It wasn't a question.

"Alls who knows best take avoidance to your lordship," the frog-like man bowed half out of respect and half from fear. The prince watched him wobble slightly in the execution of this task.

"Because I am an exemplary warrior."

The conversation was apparently making the soldier nervous, but he choose to reply, "Too right, guv."

"You have been imbibing alcohol," the teen stated aloud, "You will share your undoubtedly bountiful liquor with me, but first you will inform me of your name."

"Cowan, sir," Cowan obliged, then directed them towards a lounge, "Pleased to be of service in'a manner befittin' your 'specutations."

"Indeed."

This was Vegeta, age fourteen, drunk. Tomorrow he'd feel terrible, unaware that he was suffering from a hangover.

This was Vegeta, age four, getting into mischief. He was pretending to lead an army against an infestation of monsters with the battlefield being the Royal Council Chambers. Chairs were stacked to indicate platoons, and his cape, twisted into a shape via origami style, represented the front of his enemies.

He gave commands. He deployed units. He over-dramatized and generally had a good time.

"Send a squad to flank the left side!" he bellowed, ducking under an imaginary barrage of artillery fire.

His command was accepted, "Affirmative!" After a struggle with a potted plant an update was given, "General Vegeta, their forces are weak, strike now!"

With a battle cry, the prince ferociously tackled his cape onto the ground where he caught the edge of a platoon with his feet. The chairs collapsed and knocked a crystal icon from display. He stared in abject horror at the broken shards.

"General Vegeta, I suggest retreat."

"M-Mother.." he mumbled in a frightened daze, "Mother gave that to father. He put it in here after the funeral, so he would remember her. He said so."

It wasn't long before his deed was noticed. No amount of hiding could stave the shame, or the eventual punishment.

"Do you want to tell me why you thought it right to _play _in the Royal Council Chambers?" King Vegeta scathingly asked, his arms folded in an air of restrained violence.

His son barely withheld the tears in his eyes, "It was the other little boy. He suggested it."

"The other little boy," Vegeta Senior pursed his lips in distaste. After a pregnant pause he spoke, "Do you not recall what I said to you on the subject of lying?"

The prince was disciplined.


	8. In the End

**In the End**

The announcer introduced Goku and Vegeta. Outstanding applause erupted in the stadium as the two warriors stepped into the warm sunlight. Neither Saiyan choose to impart attention to their audience. They took opposite ends of the arena and slipped into a guarded, battle stance. The signal was given to commence.

The prince moved first by dashing to the taller man and launching a barrage of punches aimed for the head. They were decent enough that they could take out one of the less seasoned Z Fighters, but Goku deftly dodged the incoming fists. Dissatisfied with the results so far, Vegeta took a risky move by dropping onto two hands, about-facing, and clasping his ankles around Goku's neck all in one motion. The element of surprise allowed for Vegeta to flip forward, dragging the third class along for the ride. Swiftly, the younger man grasped the prince's ankles firmly and launched himself backward, effectively pinning his opponent to the ground. Vegeta grunted before tossing his weight to the side, rolling both of them over. Goku capitulated his hold in favor or standing upright, and Vegeta did the same.

They clashed together heavily, each punching with the right arm and blocking with the left. An unchoreographed dance of offensive and defensive maneuvers developed. Kicks were introduced shortly as Goku snuck in a front snap that knocked the breath of the the brunet. Taking advantage of the moment, the younger man stunned him further with a few jabs. Now angry, Vegeta flared his ki, tossing Goku a few yards before he caught himself in mid-air.

With a smirk, Goku transformed to Super Saiyan. Mirroring the expression, Vegeta ascended as well.

Suddenly the prince's moves weren't telegraphed like before. There was a channeled focus that made his attacks increasingly lethal. Goku was having difficulty in following such ferocity. A ki blast gave him an impromptu haircut, causing the hero to retreat momentarily. "Kept up on your training I see," Goku commented while catching his breath.

"If this is an attempt at flattery, I assure you that you have failed," Vegeta retaliated with a hint of humor as he took a guarded moment to rest as well.

When the brunet was prepared, he charged his fists and revitalized his efforts. Faking a shot to the groin, the prince transformed the motion into an uppercut which Goku deflected. In a swift adaptation, Vegeta followed the momentum and wrapped his arm around Goku's till his hand grasped the collar around the back. As the elder tried to dart into position, Goku twined his legs around one of Vegeta's and pulled them both towards the arena floor. They crashed into the tiles, making a small impact crater.

Goku relinquished their close proximity, idly watching as the older man spat out chunks of rock. Coming to a decision, he cupped his hands and exclaimed, "Ka.. me.. ha.. me-!"

Then something unexpected occurred. Vegeta spun so quickly it left an after-image, and he pulled his elbows back to his sides as if preparing for an assault. Too late, the black-haired Saiyan noticed the golden glimmering tendrils of light around his arms. He winced as his head cracked against the tiling. "How did he do that?" Goku wondered, then reprimanded himself for being so impressed that he was allowing his opponent the upper hand. He rolled to stand and saw Vegeta reigning control over what would be categorized as ki rope. "It works both ways!" the younger thought, tugging hard towards himself, yet the prince had anticipated such a stunt and simply let go.

It became an aerial battle much to the brunet's approval because this indicated a rising desperation in his rival. Vegeta alloted plenty of ki to stay active in his hands while waiting for any opening - whether of his own accord or taking advantage of what Goku presented - in order to further ensnare. In retaliation Goku transmitted, opting for speed instead of power.

The Earth's hero was baffled by the shorter Saiyan's ability to use ki as a restraint, but found it could not override the supremacy of his Instant Transmission. Vegeta's stamina was depleting.

The prince could not lose. If he lost this fight it meant.. terrible things. Just the notion was distracting.

Now it became Vegeta's turn to despond. Regardless of how hard he concentrated there was still another blow to his body and another counter that missed the target completely. All Kakarot had to do was bide his time. His frustration mounted, then crested, and then.. tapered. He allowed Goku to hit him. In doing so it would give him more practice to follow that damn method. "Gnnh!" he groaned as he was knocked upwards. "Ahk!" burst out as he was pummeled into the opposite direction.

A few painful minutes passed without much development on his dilemma.

I'm looking in the wrong spot, he suddenly discovered, I should be looking for _my_ ki. He summoned a concentrated force of energy in his left palm that was so intense it threatened to singe his skin. With his right palm, he reversed a typical process and called the ki back to him.

He waited.

With the flair of deception, Vegeta pulled Goku to his side through the reconnected rope and, in one agile sweep, stymied further combat. For the younger man, the situation had become abruptly serious as the prince had placed a ki ring around his throat and was now tightening it without remorse. Every endeavor to remove the hot energy by hand was unsuccessful.

Yes, yes, YES! This was it! The brunet felt a foreign thrill course through him. Goku may be more powerful, but Vegeta was the better tactician and now the world would know! All would know that the Prince of Saiyans was victor!

Each second that passed brought Son Goku closer to death, something strictly forbidden by the tournament, but not to his adversary. He had no choice; he reached into that unstable well within himself.

Super Saiyan Level Three was introduced to the universe.

"I've lost."

Vegeta wasn't sure if he even spoke it aloud due to Goku's scream towards the Heavens deafening the area. The prince mourned for his pride, but only for a breath of time because an instant later he was unconscious.


	9. A Place for My Head

**A Place for My Head**

His nose crinkled at the smell of chemicals which brought him to open his eyes. He only saw black with his left eye, so he closed it. "Hey," Bulma spoke softly, leaning over him, "How are you feeling?" The Saiyan glanced at his surroundings which informed him that he was still on the tournament grounds and therefore had not been out for very long. He ignored the other humans around him.

"There's.. a bandage over my left eye," Vegeta said it like an observation, but the blue-haired lady knew it was in inquiry.

"Goku punched you," she left out almost every detail imaginable.

"Hn, yes. That's right," the prince shifted and tried to sit upright, "Just after turning level three." A man, who he assumed was a doctor, pressed him back against the grass, carefully. The brunet did not complain, but rather sniffed the air, "He broke my zygomatic bone, didn't he?"

Bulma looked mildly surprised, "Yes, he did."

"I can smell the blood," he admitted.

"Dende will be here in a few minutes. Goku went to get him," she stated, "You gave us all a good fright." Vegeta suspected there was a double meaning to what she said.

The prince sighed. The relatively quiet moment allowed him review his situation. He had been so certain of his victory, and then.. and then Kakarot was still ahead of him. He always would be. This was his place - second.

"You fought so well," Bulma interrupted his train of thought.

"But I lost," he admonished her, "And you couldn't see most of the fight."

"I saw the parts that counted," she answered with a smile. It made him feel serene, docile.

After a moment he made a request, "Let me see your hand." The scientist raised an eyebrow and extended the appendage. With an unexpected gentleness, he took it in his own and closed his eye. The warmth of her body caused the pain to ebb. He couldn't do this alone, but he felt unable to tell her of this. No one would understand anyways. Perhaps he wasn't looking upon this with the proper perspective. Something positive could certainly be obtained from this if only he spent the time to search for it.

"Oh, good, you're back," Bulma's voice broke his relaxation, and she started to pull away. The prince did not let her.

He could feel Goku's presence looming since the younger man's mind radiated such unease. The healing process did not take long. Upon completion, the prince removed the bandage and got to his feet, this time releasing Bulma's hand. "Accompany me, Kakarot," he commanded, taking to the air.

They didn't travel far, just to another building on the same island. The brunet invited himself onto a balcony so that they stood overlooking the cityscape.

Goku broke the silence first, "I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

"Really," the prince spoke with nonchalant indifference.

"It was a comminuted fracture!" the younger man found the apathy disturbing, "It might've been a depressed skull fracture. Do you know what that means? I shattered your bone. I could have killed you."

"It happens when warriors fight," Vegeta replied as if the topic held no particular interest to him. He leaned against the railing, his expression knit in contemplation. After awhile, Goku mirrored his stance to bathe in the sunlight.

"What would you do if you woke up one day," the Prince of Saiyans had a muted, delicate tone, "and realized your reason for living was gone... Would you stop living?"

Kakarot turned to him, "You're kind of scaring me."

Bowing his head, the brunet mumbled, "..I'm scaring me too." Silence reigned, heavy and oppressive. Goku cautiously lay a hand on Vegeta's shoulder. The older Saiyan did not move nor make a verbal outburst. "You'll be gone," the prince thought aloud.

They listened to the wind and watched the sun move inexorably across the sky.

"You're the only.. friend I've had," Vegeta whispered. Then his breathing became more ragged and he hid his face. Goku felt the body under his fingertips tremble. "I don't know what to do!" the brunet croaked, "It's never been like this before. I've never felt--I'm shaking. Why can't I stop?" Vegeta sobbed quietly. He continued when he caught his breath, "I didn't just lose the tournament - I lost.. I lost..." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I'd be sorely disappointed if you never challenged me again," Goku conceded after an ample pause.

A moment of stillness enveloped them before Vegeta threw his head back, a rich chuckle diffusing the tension. "Kakarot, when I speak to you.. it is understood that it is in strict confidence?"

"Of course."

"Then I suggest that we eat cake."


	10. Forgotten

**Forgotten**

It was unnerving how hushed Capsule Corporation was at night and Vegeta took to laying beside Bulma almost immediately. For her, worry slowly dissolved to appreciation as it seemed as if he would be continually warming her bed.

Nothing that had happened lately met her expectations, but not in a negative way. Certainly the events of the tournament were mildly upsetting, and she had nearly convinced herself that Vegeta would make another attempt on Goku's life. Yet the two came back within the hour of their departure, unscathed and demanding cake in celebration. This was not the prince's typical reaction to failure. Stringent procedures usually occurred when something did not meet the Saiyan's standards.

A different aura radiated from the prince lately - something passive, yet contradictorily intense in nature. Everyday tasks took a brighter hue, the details noted instead of discarded. He initiated conversation. He participated in leisure time. He smiled.

Before, when the prince would upturn his lips, it wasn't a _smile_. It was approval, or sarcasm, or a sneer in disguise. Now he tended to display his top row of teeth, allow a slight crinkle around his eyes, and his cheeks showed dimples. She didn't even know he HAD dimples. It was alluring and - above all - arousing. "Especially," she thought, "when he's laughing." That action used to be caustic, rough, as if it was another way to express displeasure. Now it was a rumbling timbre that seemed.. warm, beckoning her to join in.

Just thinking about all these subtle differences made her anxious. It was as if Goku's transformation to Level Three had brought out some type of inner transformation for the prince. Previously Vegeta was found predictable, nigh boring. The brunet presently likened to unchartered territory - mysterious and captivating, begging for more discoveries to make the observer stand in awe.

Bulma shifted in her chair, unable to concentrate on her latest project. One thought kept running through her mind: What could that boy be doing right now?

She ultimately chose to find out. The blue-haired scientist left the lab and crossed the compound to the main building. Bulma heard her mother vacuuming in the other room as she came into the house. She peeked into the kitchen first, but there was only the cat drinking daintily from its bowl. The gravity room was empty, though it smelled heavily of detergent battling the residue of sweat. Vegeta's pristine bedroom and corresponding bathroom also yielded the same result. Frustration crept up when his presence wasn't located in her room either. "Well," she thought to herself while padding back downstairs, "I guess I will have to ask mom where he's gone."

After swinging around the corner, the femme fatale unconsciously let her jaw drop. The vacuumer was none other than the Prince of Saiyans - a man who had once claimed that household chores were too lowly of an act for a warrior of his stature. Not only was he performing this duty with a strange grace, but he seemed content to be doing something so mundane. Bulma noticed two other things in rapid succession. One was that he was wearing clothing she did not purchase for him and therefore it alluded that he willfully went shopping. The second point of interest was that a part of her brain remarked on how each component of the scene magnificently adjoined to become undoubtedly, exquisitely erotic.

The lady did the only thing that seemed sensible; she marched up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. Vegeta jumped lightly - honestly startled - and powered off the vacuum. "Yes?" he asked softly as she smoothed her hands over his pectoral muscles. She leaned forward, pressing her body fully against his. Bulma recounted a recent bit of history, "You know.. you stopped Babidi from awakening Buu." She whispered coyly, watching a blush slowly rise up his neck to stain his cheeks and ears, "Everyone knows that when you save the world you get the girl." His breath hitched as her hands decidedly wandered lower.

A few seconds later Bulma deftly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the clasp on his pants, and unzipped the fly.

A few more moments and the prince shuddered, collapsing carefully to his knees.

Clothes were divested and she relished in his submission - elated over every moan she pulled from this throat. His touches, normally commanding, were light and inquisitive. The sheer contrast between Vegeta's ordinary, demanding control and this intimately curious personality made her sensitivity level skyrocket.

For the first time since the beginning of their strangely cooperative relationship, Bulma could honestly say that they made love. Care and consideration was exercised by the brunet at every point available, making her feel like they were truly sharing one another rather than simply taking pleasure in the other's body. She swore she never orgasmed so much before in her life.

Afterwards she lay in his arms, both of them smiling lazily in satisfaction and satiation.

"Who is this? I don't recognize this person," she teased affectionately before giving him a kiss.

"Do you like the new Vegeta?" he replied playfully.

With a laugh she affirmed, "Of course I do."

That novel smile broke across his face and there was a glimmer in his eyes that she mistook for mischievousness, "Would you like for him to stay?"


	11. Cure for the Itch

**Cure for the Itch**

Slowly the despair over his loss faded and Vegeta grew attached to being in possession. Not to mention his love affair with the eccentric billionaire Bulma Briefs gave him a sense of security hitherto unknown to the prince. Like an anchor to reality, her presence instilled tranquility. He felt nervous less frequently. It was a blessing and a curse that he lost his fight with Goku. Surely his heart ached over the defeat, however he was compensated with complete and utter freedom.

He spent time with Trunks - sometimes inventing excuses to get them out of the house. At first the boy had been uncertain with the barrage of bonding, but he quickly grew comfortable with the attention.

If Vegeta had known that the peace would not last, he probably would've distanced himself. As it was, he had already made several irreparable miscalculations.

"Don't have any plans for tomorrow because we're hosting a party," Bulma informed over a family breakfast.

The prince flinched slightly, as if this information added to something that already plagued his mind. He looked at Bulma with a smile that was less than heartfelt, "A party? What for?" He tried to ignore the nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had been feeling ill at random intervals for the past few days.

The scientist couldn't restrain her grin, "Chi-chi called. Goku's coming back."

His fork clattered loudly against the plate.

Bulma casually added, "Oh, and for the baby. I'm pregnant."

The brunet looked at her wide-eyed and pale.

"That's wonderful!" Bunni cheered, clasping her hands together. Her father gave a congratulations.

Vegeta spoiled the effect by fleeing from the kitchen.

The prince slammed the door to his bedroom behind him, collapsed against the solid wood, and wove his fingers into his hair. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't cut out to be a father! Of course he looked after Trunks, but that was different because that was.. _his_ son. Yes, he had wanted this freedom, but he wasn't prepared to pay a price such as this.

The air was too stuffy - he couldn't breathe right - his vision blurred - his teeth chattered. After a moment he curled into a ball to rest.

He woke. Someone was knocking at the door. "Yeah?" he called out blearily while trying to will the grogginess out of his head. The brunet yawned as he extracted himself off the floor.

"Vegeta, are you okay?" Bulma's voice came through the wood concerned, but he picked up on trace amounts of animosity.

Confusion began to set in, "Y-eah.." Something seemed off. This was all wrong. Sadly he noticed that this wasn't a dream.

"You didn't seem okay," she continued. He was aware that she most likely would relentlessly engage him till he divested whatever information she wanted.

Then it came back. In one horrible moment of monumental recollection. He knew of the defaulting to second place at the tournament due to the injury. However, the prince could not explain how he was so acutely aware of details beyond the scope of his observation. How did he know his zygomatic bone had been broken? It was obviously healed now.

Then he came to realize he had been lying on the floor of his room and _he didn't know why_.

Silence devoured any shred of peace.

"Vegeta," she sighed, her tone holding less patience, "If this is about the baby, just say it."

Baby? His mind spiraled, instantly making him queasy. "It... I..." he fumbled for words as dread robbed him of eloquence, "It's not..?" Vegeta winced at how pathetic he sounded even in his own ears. He had lost the fight. He had lost control. In terror, he concluded internally, "Holy fucking shit, I'm doomed."

"We need to talk about this," Bulma declared boldly, "I'm coming in."

"No!" the brunet gasped, lunged, and tripped over himself as the pain escalated.

She opened the door right as he vomited.

"Oh," the scientist said with both relief and worry. The prince glanced at her with an expression that lay somewhere between crestfallen and anxious.

With a curt frown, she knelt beside him in order to ease him to his feet. "It's alright if someone takes care of you for a change," she told him gently, "No one expects you to be perfect. Quit hurting yourself just so you can look macho.. You know I hate that. Now come on and get into bed. I'll clean up this mess." He didn't have the energy to argue.

By the time she got the cleaning supplies he had fallen asleep. Bulma tucked him in.

Morning came and Vegeta opened his eyes to a world that contained Goku once more. He slid out of bed and sat on the ground, then tried to stand, opted to crawl to the dresser, and eventually pulled himself onto his feet. The prince looked into the mirror and gasped.

He looked.. different. Vegeta stared at himself and attempted to process what the hell was going on. With mounting terror he recalled that he was living at Capsule Corporation. What made this frightening was that he had _forgot_. How could he be simultaneously surprised at his surroundings yet completely comfortable within them?

The prince stumbled out of his room in search for answers. He felt strange, disoriented as he carefully tred downstairs. Cheerful voices and laughter drifted from the living room. His figure filled the doorway, drawing Bulma's eye from the guests. She excused herself.

"How are you feeling?" the lady asked while following him back into the hall.

Vegeta thought, "My head feels like it's full of broken glass. My memories are bleeding. How do you think I feel?" The prince opted to say, "What's going on?"

"The party," Bulma stated while knitting her eyebrows.

"The.. party?" his inquiry seemed dark, almost scathing.

"For Goku," she said with a hint of hostility due to the fact that he was now glaring.

The brunet swayed while hissing, "For Kakarot. Of course."

"What is wrong with you? You knew Goku was coming today. Are you running a fever? Do you feel nauseated again?"

Anger bubbled inside of him at her audacity. How dare she interrogate him as if he were some child. How could she care for him when she so incessantly chastised his pain? Was this some sort of bizarre form of pity? He would never accept it! Pity meant he was weak. First his pride, then control, and now weakness? What had he become? 'You're a monster,' his conscience criticized, 'A failure. Of course she would choose Kakarot over you.' Vegeta snarled while turning away causing himself to nearly lose balance, "I'm leaving."

"What?" the blue-haired scientist was taken aback by this turn of events, "What do you mean?"

"Off this planet!" he shouted while using the wall as a walking aid.

She reached out and grabbed at his shirt, "Now wait just a-"

"Don't touch me!" Vegeta roared while shoving her away. Bulma hit the ground in shock, but an instant later she shouted back.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed in rage, ignoring his expression of dismay. By now the arguing couple had gained an audience.

"It was an accident," he replied quietly, trembling minutely.

She heard approaching footsteps and looked back to see Goku advancing. The younger Saiyan knelt and offered a hand, "Are you okay?" He had that certain tone of voice that meant that not only was he was angry, but he refused to let the emotion consume him.

Bulma accepted the proffered appendage and winced as she rose, "I'll be fine, but Vegeta's ill. He's not himself."

"Not myself?" the prince pondered, "Then who am I?" The question caused that displeasurable sensation in his stomach to escalate - the one that made it seem as if he was full of hot lead. "Oh god," he thought a moment later, "I'm hyperventilating aren't I?" He was. The black-haired man approached the prince causing Vegeta to instantly back up. "Now I'm a coward too?" he thought with shame.

And then Goku was beside him. Damn that technique!

"Let go!" the brunet commanded as the younger male grasped his wrists. There was a brief, intense struggle in the hall before it became a furious grappling battle on the floor. "No!" Vegeta protested as Goku pinned him face down on the ground. Panic assaulted the prince abruptly, making him buck wildly in an effort to escape his confines, "Stop it! STOP IT! I didn't mean.. It was an accident! I wasn't lying; I promise!" Instances of terror bubbled up from the depths in his soul making the unease palpable, "You can't..! You won't... It was an accident.." He calmed slightly, bowing his head while echoing, "..an accident..."

He went still.

Vegeta came to with his face against the carpet and his arms tucked to his sides forcefully. A weight on top of him was revealed to be the third-class Saiyan who bore an expression of a type of uncharacteristic determination. Wordlessly he shifted, scanning the room to find a sea of disappointed and disgusted faces which made him feel guilty and mortified. Bulma's was the worst and he knew that no amount of running, hiding, or denying would redeem him. The Prince of Saiyans was truly defeated.

"Can I let go?" Goku's voice rumbled lowly near his ear. The brunet gave an imperceptible nod. After a moment's hesitation, the other man climbed off of Vegeta and knelt by his side. With sloth-like movements, the prince sat up, refusing to meet anyone's eye.

With bitterness Vegeta realized the pain was so great that he was willing to sacrifice his pride to remove it. He wanted - more than anything - to extract the memory loss, the confusion, and the awkward passage of time. He had a taste of normalcy which had eradicated his past desires of power, immortality, and material victory. It was a path he would never be able to pursue again for how vapid and empty it carved his soul.

He agreed to their every condition.

He slept in the backseat of the car.

He allowed himself to be subjected to needles and scans.

Only when the doctor spoke to him in private did he relent information. Somehow, a stranger seemed harmless in his eyes. "Ms. Briefs says you have problems concentrating and remembering," the physician raised an important question, "Can you think of anything that would cause this to occur?"

It took the prince a few minutes to gain the confidence to speak and the doctor was kind not to interrupt once he began, "When I was a child, I had an imaginary friend. He... We did everything together, but it got us into trouble. I had to ignore him until he went away. Things were.. different after that."

One cannot simply go back and start over again, but you can do a partial reversal. Vegeta wasn't aware of it yet, but his life was about to perform one.


	12. Pushing Me Away

**Pushing Me Away**

She had expected a virus or a disease. Instead she was directed to a specialized doctor that dealt with other specialized illnesses. Bulma wasn't ignorant of her friends' faults, yet she wasn't one to judge too readily because she was also aware that everyone had issues. They were unavoidable. It was part of life - to her - and she thought you merely coped till you moved on. So when the concept of a psychiatrist was brought to her attention she was astounded. Vegeta? Her Vegeta? Talk about his problems?

It didn't seem a likely solution.

Yet, Vegeta suggested that action be taken immediately. There was something hallow in his tones that made her uncomfortable. It was a bizarre combination of a mild manner, zealous hope, and desperation. Disobeying his wishes at this point made it apparent that it would be an unwise decision. In response Bulma performed the only course of action she deemed appropriate, and she booked a session.

Now she sat with a gnawing feeling inside of her while the Prince of Saiyans was confiding into a stranger secrets he would not divulge to her. It made her feel jealous and angry, but mostly this was caused from the confusion. What could he possibly verbalize to this doctor that would cure him of his malady? "You don't have to stay, Goku," the lady said earnestly, "The session is two hours long and you've been away from your family for so long already."

"They can wait a bit longer," he replied with conviction. This startled her for several reasons. Before she could press the issue, the black-haired Saiyan explained, "Vegeta can't. And he's my friend too. I want to be here for him."

Bulma surmised that he viewed the situation as tentative, and that any moment Vegeta could call on him. Because of that possibility, Goku wanted to be there. His presence also had a soothing effect which calmed some of the scientist's frayed nerves.

When you're waiting time drags on and two hours feel like a finite eternity.

Vegeta emerged from the inner room with downcast eyes and an expression of deep concentration. He did not speak.

"We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time then, Vegeta?" the doctor asked for confirmation.

He nodded.

"Dr. Ashton," Bulma took the other lady aside and shared some words, "How long will he have to keep coming?"

The blond gave a slight shrug, "As long as necessary. If he exhibits any unusual behavior, call me." At this she gave the President of Capsule Corporation her business card.

"Unusual in what regard?" the blue-haired woman spoke while reading over the card, "Like if he starts claiming he's from another planet?" She met the psychiatrist's eyes as she tested the water here. Bulma did not receive the reaction she expected.

"You and I both know that he is, Ms. Briefs," Dr. Ashton said with a ghost of a smile, "No, I mean if he suffers from memory loss or rapid mood swings." Bulma had to admit that she was impressed by the display of professionalism.

They drove home. Vegeta slept in the back seat. When they stepped inside of the house, the prince fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly feeling out of place. An uneasy silence of words unspoken filled the air. At the sound of the door and footsteps, the other guests had come to investigate. Bulma ignored them as she hung her jacket and purse in the closet. Finally she spoke, "Did my mom serve dinner already?"

Trunks cut in with haste and determination, "What's wrong with dad?"

Expectant faces hung on every exchange.

With hesitancy, Bulma tried to reply with tact and grace, "Well, we don't kn-"

"I'm broken," Vegeta interrupted. They waited for more of an explanation which did not come.

The blue-haired lady made another attempt, "He's.. going through a hard time right now. He needs support right now."

"He needs support?" Piccolo interjected gruffly, "He pushes a pregnant woman to the ground and _he_ needs support?" A murmur of agreement ran through those assembled.

"I pushed you?" Vegeta croaked, his entire face a look of dread.

"Piccolo, stop it!" Bulma demanded before turning to the brunet and putting a comforting arm around him, "It was an accident."

"That doesn't.. excuse it," the brunet said lowly, choking with emotion.

"Damn right!" Chi-chi piped up, her temper stoked from these transgressions, "There's no reason for that behavior!"

Then the prince did something completely unexpected: he began to cry. Painfully awkward silence enveloped the party except for random bursts of Vegeta's sobs. Chi-chi had the decency to be embarrassed. It wasn't that she was wrong, it was just evident that he knew she was right. "I'm sorry," she said in a soft voice, "it wasn't my place."

It took a few tries for him to respond, "You don't have to apologize to me.."

"I'm sorry, Bulma," the well-intentioned wife mistook Vegeta's meaning, "It's been a long day.. for all of us. Let's just postpone the party for another day."

This was a unanimously approved.

A week passed.

Dr. Ashton made an advancement on Tuesday. After initial pleasantries she inquired, "Recall our last session. Do you have anything else to add to our previous subject?"

Vegeta's body language expressed that he was nervous, "Uh.. no."

"That's interesting," the doctor noted aloud.

Taking the bait, the prince said, "Why's that?"

"Because you told me last session you wanted to continue the subject today," she retorted nonchalantly. She met his gaze evenly.

"I changed my mind," he answered defensively.

"Perhaps a bit more literally than what people are accustomed to?" Dr. Ashton spoke frankly. His penetrating stare didn't come close to fazing the human. She took a bold leap and continued, "Vegeta said he ignored you till you went way, but you never really left, did you...?"

He wasn't apt to this type of conversation nor being properly acknowledged. This was tricky business. Sheer fascination finally won his inner debate. "I couldn't," he imparted.

"Of course," the blond gently concurred before asking with the same tenderness, "Do you have a name?"

The prince looked puzzled, but he gave it, "Vegeta."

"Your name is Vegeta too?"

The look intensified to bewilderment, "No, I'm Vegeta."

"Then who is the other one that also calls himself Vegeta, if you're Vegeta?"

"..But we're both Vegeta."

She took a moment to assess the conversation thus far. "Then you both share the same name," she extrapolated.

"No," he corrected her, "We're both the same person. There's a difference."

"But you acknowledge that you're separate," she countered smoothly.

"But he's me," Vegeta tried to clarify, becoming frustrated.

"Please," Dr. Ashton spoke with nothing but forbearance and compassion, "Expound."

He fulfilled the request, "We are of one soul."

She gave this due consideration. "Are there any other Vegetas?" she asked innocently.

The brunet managed to appear affronted from this question, "No."

"How do you know?" she prodded carefully, sounding interested rather than demeaning.

"How do you know that there's one Dr. Ashton?" Vegeta gave an excellent rebuttal.

The blond laughed approvingly at this. "I see your point," she relented with a smile, "Alright then, Vegeta, would you care to talk to me about your life?"

He spoke freely, unlike the other Vegeta. The psychiatrist nicknamed one "Main Vegeta" and the other "Alternate Vegeta" in accordance to their social interactions. The main was the Vegeta who usually had control over the body and which people thought they were interacting with. His personality was taciturn, obstinate, and fastidious. She also liked him because he was highly witty and honest. The alternate was the secondary identity that took possession when the main was vulnerable (i.e. sleeping, etc,) or when the main was in such distress that the possession was literally forced upon him. His personality was less mature, more extroverted, and disinclined to consider consequences. She also liked him because he was sympathetic and rather optimistic. The lady never voiced these nicknames because it implied an inequality in status.

It took time. Large amounts of time. Healing always did. The identities had interacted in the past, and Dr. Ashton hypothesized that restoring this ability would create a better harmony for every party involved. An attempted coercion of communication caused physical illness in the prince, deterring progress.

Eventually she devised a different method for association. She guided the Saiyan though a series of requests. The idea was to make the Main Vegeta comfortable enough so that he could recognize the Alternate. The blond asked him to first recall what his imaginary friend had been like, then to visualize this friend with him at various points in his life, gradually building up to the present. The brunet maintained being receptive.

From there, Dr. Ashton worked with delicacy, "Would there be a reason as to why your imaginary friend could not be real?"

The Saiyan stared at her with distrust, "Because he's imaginary. We've talked about this."

"Your father was the one who proclaimed that, yes?"

"My father," he growled slightly in irritation, "knew better than to let his heir indulge in such trite fantasies."

"Yet your father was completely unaware of your condition," she pointed out.

"I was too.. weak to eradicate such.. such.. insanity," the brunet spat with anger.

"Different is not insane, Vegeta," her reprimand sounded nothing like one, "You were a child and your father gave you a heavy burden. He asked you to rid yourself of a friend that looked like you, that spoke in the same voice as you, and that gave you comfort and companionship."

"But.. he wasn't real..." the prince's tone held a hint of despair.

The lady raised an eyebrow, "By who's account? His or your own?" The monarch did not meet her gaze as he lapsed into silence. "Friends forgive one another," she continued, "Sometimes all you have to do is ask. Why don't you ask him?"

Vegeta made a face - Dr. Ashton wasn't sure if it was a sneer, a wince, or merely contemplation. He sighed, "This is stupid."

"You came to me for help," she reminded him, "You said you would give me your willing diligence."

"Fine," he replied curtly. The psychiatrist did not pressure him, rather preferring for him to move at his own pace. A faint blush of embarrassment crossed the prince's cheeks as he said, "I'm sorry I ignored my imaginary friend."

"No," she admonished with a slight shake of the head, "Please apologize to him, Vegeta, not me."

The brunet chose an area of space to focus on since peering at his doctor made him uncomfortable. There was something about addressing a person while looking at another that seemed innately inconsiderate. Crimson blatantly stained the Saiyan's face this time, but he complied, "I'm sorry I ignored you."

He felt it at first - much like the strange buzz inside his head except benign and pleasing. A warm tremor ran up the prince's spine at the sensation. Then a quiet voice spoke: "I forgive you." Vegeta leapt out of his chair, startled and confused. The acceptance hadn't really been spoken, had it? "Please don't shut me away," the voice implored, "Not again. I've missed you."

"What the fuck.." he murmured, eyes roaming across the room to find the source. He settled down after a moment when he reminded himself that he was insane. The voice answered his thoughts, "You're not crazy. This is us. We're Vegeta. We always have been and we always will be."

It was too painful. The prince clamped his hands over his ears and shouted, "Shut up! Only people who are crazy have voices in their head!"

"That's not true," Dr. Ashton assuaged him firmly, "Not when the voice is real. And he is real, Vegeta. He's another part of you. I've talked to him."

A lump became noticeable in his throat, making it difficult to speak, "You.. You _talked_ to him?"

"Surely you noticed that last Monday you don't remember attending your session?"

Vegeta pondered this update for a moment before hesitantly replying, "He... The memory loss.. it's.. him?"

"Yes," she smiled, "and now we can prevent it from happening."

"How?" he whispered, the tiny word punctuated with hope.

"By sharing your life with him," Dr. Ashton said, "and he with you. Let's work on that for our next session."

Later, Vegeta lay in the back seat of the car while listening to Bulma sing along with the radio. This was not what he had expected. It was quiet within his cranium except for his thoughts. The doctor had explained the Other Vegeta to him, so he found it curious as to why his no-longer-imaginary friend did not speak. In a whisper, that peculiar voice said, "I was trying to show you respect." This surprised and touched the prince. "Thanks," he whispered back. A few minutes passed and the brunet was soon asleep.

He awoke when she parked the car. Sleepily he drug himself upstairs, took a quick shower, and then dressed in pajamas. Contrary to his typical routine, he sat at the foot of the bed and watched Bulma prepare herself for the night. There was a cold, automatic feeling to her movements. Finally she climbed into bed and turned off the light.

Bulma was ignoring him.

That hurt worse than thinking he was mentally unstable. The prince said her name, softly, not moving from the edge of the bed. He did not repeat it, choosing instead to ask the question that plagued his mind, "Do you not love me anymore?" He would not blame her if she did not, nor would he hold it against her. An instant later Vegeta heard the rustling of the sheets and then lithe, warm arms encircled his shoulders.

"You idiot," she whispered in his ear as hot tears hit his neck, "Of course I do."

"Even though there's another me?"

She turned him so that they faced one another. Bulma kissed him, "Another you that is still you, and I love you for being who you are."

It would take time. Large amounts of time. Healing always did. Thankfully, happiness did not.


	13. Epilogue: My December

**Epilogue: My December**

"What about this sweater?" the Prince of Saiyans held it out at arms length to thoroughly examine it.

"For mommy? It looks cute!" chirped his daughter. Vegeta thought her high endurance for the mundane was endearing, and took note of her comment regardless that Bura was at an age that anything with pink or bows on was a must-have for the wardrobe. "What's daddy think?" she asked.

This wasn't an inability to use pronouns properly. Bura had an uncanny aptitude for knowing which Vegeta was which. If she had known of Dr. Ashton's nicknames then the girl would explain that the Main was her father, but the Alternate was her daddy. They were both her parent; therefore she loved them equally.

"Daddy likes it too," the prince informed while adding the item to the obscenely large pile of Christmas presents in their shopping basket, "I think that's it, munchkin. Let's hit the road." While waiting in line he made a mental note to not procrastinate shopping till the evening before the holiday. "Don't worry," the other him assured, "I'll make sure you don't forget."

He somehow managed to sneak the bags upstairs and cleverly substitute an assistant every so often in order to ensure that no one would not see their present early. Due to this he was placing the last gift under the tree when the guests began to arrive. Vegeta volunteered himself to be a greeter since Bunni was cooking in the kitchen and Bulma was off who-knew-where being undoubtedly busy and fretting over last minute details. She liked being fashionably late, so he accommodated the best that he could.

"Trunks!" Goten shouted the second the prince turned the handle. For his own health, Vegeta swung the door open wide and plastered himself against the wall as the teen rushed past.

"Goten! That is no way to behave!" Chi-chi shouted, "Come back and say you're sorry!"

He ran back, bumped into Vegeta in a fancy motion while mumbling almost incoherently with excitement. He left again at the same speed. The brunet couldn't help to release a small chuckle, "Was he trying to hug me or assault me?" He turned to the rest of the Son family, "Oh, come in! I forget that you like such formalities from time to time." They shuffled in, ridding themselves of thick layers that kept the cold out.

"It's good to see you again," Chi-chi beckoned the prince over, "No more troubles, I hope?" With a blush he accepted a hug from her.

"Bulma and I are doing very well now, thank you," he responded.

The lady sniffed the air, "Lordy, that smells good! I'm going to see if Bunni needs any help in the kitchen."

"Hello, Vegeta," Gohan extended his hand which the older man shook.

"It's really nice being here," Videl smiled, also offering a handshake. A second or so passed before Gohan inconspicuously nudged his fiancée. Brightening, the young woman excused herself, "I'll just go join Chi-chi, shall I?" The half-Saiyan announced that he was going to check on his younger brother.

The prince had a sneaking suspicion that people had intentionally made themselves scarce.

"Hi, Vegeta," Goku smiled at him. It was the smile that said I am really, truly, honest-to-god happy to see you. The effect on the recipient usually didn't vary, and the brunet was one not to deviate from this phenomenon.

"Hi, Kakarot," he smiled back. It was the smile that said I am really, truly, honest-to-god happy that you're in my life.

"So.." the younger man smirked a little, but it was a teasing quirk of the lips and nothing sinister, "You're taking me up on my challenge."

Vegeta pretended to look at him with disapproval, "How did you know what I was getting you this year?"

"Well, let me put it to you this way," Goku leaned in conspiratorially, "Now I know."

There was a moment where the brunet let himself be stunned by his cleverness. "Don't rejoice yet," he warned, unable to resist a smirk of his own, "It's two against one."

Goku laughed, "I like those odds."

"Really?" Vegeta grinned, "So do I."


End file.
